


Before I Go

by sunny_sideways



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Best Friends, Gen, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunny_sideways/pseuds/sunny_sideways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is the one screaming for him while Deucalion’s claws tear through his stomach, but it’s Scott who’s there for what, he can only assume, are his very last moments of consciousness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Go

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little fic because I seriously needed some Scott/Stiles brotp action. Also potential Stiles/Lydia, although not necessarily written that way... more of a heat of the moment thing. Thanks for reading!

He’s propped up against the wall in a dim supply closet and of course, _of course_ , he’s spending the precious last minutes of his life at school. In what is apparently the heart of Beacon Hills, where everything goes down with the Alpha pack and he doesn’t know who has won (if anyone), who is still alive, what the hell is going on, because he too focused on Scott’s terrified eyes and just taking _one more breath_.

“You gotta go back out there, buddy,” Stiles says softly, pale and still but voice surprisingly strong, however quiet.

They’re both covered in Stiles’ blood, and they both know what is happening.

“No – no, hell no. Not without you,” Scott responds firmly, hands ghosting over the mess that was once Stiles’ stomach, eyes red and frantic, “Just – just hang on, okay? Stiles?”

“They need you.”

“No they don’t. I took Deucalion down, Stiles, _you_ need me.”

And it’s the truth – that’s one thing Stiles actually does know. Both of those things. Because Stiles does need Scott, and Deucalion is defintely one werewolf Stiles knows for a fact died a pretty gross death. But not before taking a big chunk of Stiles with him – literally. He had torn through his shirt and his flesh, and Lydia had been screaming, furious and horrified and a symbol of everything they had become to each other the last several months. Stiles lost some time in the fight, but the next thing he remembered was Scott killing Deucalion gruesomely, fury practically radiating off of him in a way Stiles hadn’t ever seen before.

If he had been coherent enough to feel anything, he may have been a little scared for his friend.

For, not of.

It felt like a lifetime ago since he had been scared _of_ Scott – at the beginning, before the control – and it nearly was a whole other time. Entirely different from the Scott who fell to his knees next to his best friend, tears in his eyes but a fierce resolve on his face. Lydia and Allison had helped Scott pull Stiles towards a closet and away from harm, but Scott had refused to leave, instead ordering the girls to bring back help and stating resolutely that everything was going to be fine.

But Lydia was sobbing when she finally let go of Stiles’ hands, pushing her hair back from her face and smearing his blood over her skin. Stiles had first known he was going to die when she leaned down and kissed him hard on the lips, promising they’d be back soon before Allison dragged her away, fear in her usually stoic eyes.

Stiles second clue that he was going to die was sitting right in front of him.

Scott had clearly put on a brave face for their friends, but no matter how hard he tried to keep that brave face for Stiles, he is so clearly failing that it hurts worse than the wound that is long numbed. Scott presses his hands down on his best friends’ stomach, trying desperately to hold him together, black lines pulsing up his arms, trying to relieve Stiles of any pain he thinks he might have.

Stiles just lifts up his shaking hands and presses them weakly to Scott’s, stilling the motion, “Don’t waste your energy Scotty,” he whispers patiently, his voice barely quavering, “I can’t feel anything.”

Scott’s face crumbled at the words, “You’re – you’re going to be okay, it’ll be alright, Allison and Lydia are coming back, and you’re gonna be fine.”

There's a brief passing of silence where Scott flips his slippery hands over, squeezing Stiles’ once and then standing. He stares at the door for a long minute, listening and hoping and praying for footsteps, but all he hears is the familiar sounds of battle and Stiles swears he can feel Scott’s heart practically leaping out of his chest.

“If you’re not going to go then just – just come closer, okay?”

They both pretend it isn’t a plea, but Stiles is damn sure that it is. If he’s going to die here tonight, he doesn’t care how selfish it is – he wouldn’t want anyone else there. He doesn’t want to die alone. Scott doesn’t comment, just looks that much closer to tears, but he slides down the wall next to Stiles, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tugging Stiles’ head to his shoulder, the air around them so thick with emotion it is nearly suffocating.

“I’m not going to let you die,” Scott croaks, his fist tightening on the shoulder of Stiles’ jacket.

Stiles fumbles for Scott’s hand, pressing their palms together, “You have to _fight_.”

“ _No_ ,” Scott snaps pathetically, pressing his face into Stiles’ head.

“Scotty, you – you have to take care of my dad, okay?” A tremor pulses through his body, completely out of his control, tears falling out of his eyes when Scott pulls him closer, “And – and Lydia, too, please, they –”

“Shut up, Stiles, just – just shut the hell up,” Scott is crying too, shaking so hard he is practically vibrating, “Do you remember that night? At the motel? What you said to me, Stiles, it – it goes both ways, you _know that_ ,” he has to pause, trying and failing to compose himself, “I can’t do this without you,” Scott whispers, squeezing his eyes closed, “We’re – we’re brothers, right? I can’t do this without you.”

Stiles turns his head into Scott’s chest, closing his eyes as his head slouches lazily, “It’s gonna be okay, buddy,” he responds weakly, his hand slacking on its grip in Scott’s.

Another sob leaves Scott and Stiles hears more than feels his best friend pressing his lips hard onto his damp hair, “No, no, Stiles – please – please hold on, they’re coming back and, and – oh god, Stiles. _Stiles_.”

Stiles uses everything he has left to tighten his hand again, because he’s been there. He stood on the other side when he thought Scott was going to die, and there was nothing worse. And now Scott is next to him, falling apart, and Stiles wants more than anything to stay with him and comfort him and keep him safe. But he can’t do anything except sink closer into his best friend, “Love you, Scotty,” he says softly.

Scott untangles his hand and pulls Stiles closer to him, practically onto his lap, sobbing and shaking, his mouth still pressed to Stiles’ head as he whispers, “I love you, just hang on Stiles, hang on – don’t – don’t leave me, _please don’t leave_.”

Scott sounds like he’s in a tunnel, far away and Stiles can’t reach him. But he can feel him, can feel Scott running his hands over his arms and back and head, begging him to keep breathing and telling Stiles everything he means to him.

Before his world fades to black, Stiles thinks that if he never wakes up he’s glad the last thing he heard was Scott’s voice.

 


End file.
